


Just Me & My Burnt Shadow

by fightthosefairies



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Cas is a crossroads demon, Demon Deals, M/M, MCD is Sam's death at the end of 2x21, Slight D/S Vibes, What if?, because demon deal, canon-compliant MCD, crossroads demon deal, crossroads demon!Cas sounds like a cross between Endverse!Cas and EmptyEntity!Cas, crossroads demon!Castiel, demonic au, dom!Cas/sub!Dean (implied atm), dubcon elements, ep 2x22 AU, what if Cas had been a demon?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:33:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22263412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightthosefairies/pseuds/fightthosefairies
Summary: Every second was another second Sam was gone and regardless of his own internal momentum - his desperation to fix things, to bring Sammy back, make sure he was okay - Dean couldn’t make the thing appear, and it was pissing him off.“‘cking come on, already!  Show your face, you bitch!” He challenged, narrowed eyes scanning all around him.“Well, well… Dean Winchester.”  The smoky voice that touched his ears was a low, dangerous purr.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 9
Kudos: 91





	Just Me & My Burnt Shadow

Dean’s hands shook as they scrabbled through the contents of Baby’s trunk. He knew exactly what he needed - what it would take - and his hands moved quickly, picking over the boxes of ammo and various and sundry hunting weapons. The box he was looking for was tucked down in the back far right corner of Baby’s trunk and it was a bitch to get to, but it contained all of their fake IDs and it was the best he was going to do. 

It was all he had. It just had to work, that’s all.

* * *

Sammy was laid out, dead and cold, on a dirty, threadbare mattress back at the abandoned farmhouse and getting colder by the minute. As soon as Bobby had left, Dean had torn off in his car, bound for the nearest crossroads he knew.

Fingers closing around the battered edges of the box, he pulled it out and grabbed a fistful of IDs, sorting through them half-blind until he found one with his own stupid mug on it. Agent Dean Ford, Fish and Wildlife. That went into the second box he’d set atop the double-ought salt rounds, along with a couple bundles of stinky herbs, some whippoorwill bones, a handful of coins, and a spare bottle of dead man’s blood they had knocking around in the back for good measure. Really sweeten the pot for the hell skank.

That done, Dean slammed the lid of the box containing all their fake IDs and then slammed Baby’s trunk moments later, the small box cradled in his hands as he strode in the direction of where the four roads intersected. Stopping at the very heart of that intersection, Dean clawed at the gravel with his bare hands. Once the hole was big enough, he carefully placed the box inside and dragged the gravel back into place to conceal its deadly treasure away.

Standing up straight again, he peered around him, eyes peeled and ears trained for the slightest possible noise or blur that might indicate if whatever the fuck it was, was pleased with his offering, and was interested in doing business. 

Every second was another second Sam was gone and regardless of his own internal momentum - his desperation to fix things, to bring Sammy back, make sure he was okay - Dean couldn’t make the thing appear, and it was pissing him off.

“‘cking come on, already! Show your face, you bitch!” He challenged, narrowed eyes scanning all around him. 

“Well, well… Dean Winchester.” The smoky voice that touched his ears was a low, dangerous purr. 

Brows furrowing, Dean whipped around, following the sound of his name to its source, eyes landing on the one he’d been waiting for and immediately snapping into full hunter’s focus. His eyes skimmed over the figure from head to toe, tallying up what few clues he was being given.

The man was only just shorter than Dean, himself, but something about him made the air throb with more power than he could ever remember coming face to face with in all his time as a hunter. Every stitch of his clothing -- from the duster draped across his broad shoulders to the silk waistcoat buttoned neatly across his middle -- was black as pitch. Looked expensive, too, from what Dean could tell. Right down to his stupid shoes. Shiny, tasteful. Probably Italian. 

It took all his willpower not to roll his eyes; demons were so obnoxious. 

His hair was short, bits and spikes of it poking out, all tousled. No rings, no watches or bracelets - not even so much as a tie pin or cuff-link. With his sun-touched skin, he looked more ‘normal’ than most of the pasty-faced demons Dean had ever encountered, and his body was lean, but solid. Hands hanging loosely at his sides, his posture was straight and open. Receptive. Waiting. 

The creature standing before him radiated a coiled strength that intrigued Dean. The guy’s voice was all sorts of bass and gravel, but in spite of the solemnity in his tone, his expression seemed almost… amused? The corners of his mouth curled, dimples peeking out as he stood, hands in the pockets of his trousers, and just stared at him.

“Yeah, what of it?” Dean asked, already damned tired of playing footsie with this thing.

“You summoned me here, did you not?” The demon inquired, head inclining into an inquiring tilt, that teasing smile still playing on his lips. Dean locked eyes with him, struck by how intensely blue the demon’s eyes were, but with a blink, that blue and everything else that went along with it was replaced by eyes the same shade as freshly spilled blood.

Dean swallowed, hard. 

Those unnerving eyes slid away from his, the demon’s expression oddly reserved, and Dean followed his gaze to the center of the crossroads and the recently disturbed gravel there. 

“We know all about it, Dean. What happened to Sam, Dad signing on the dotted line with Azazel to save you,” he offers, every bit as casual as if he was asking Dean for a stick of gum. The demon’s sporting smile faded and he looked back at Dean, his eyes flickering back to that sober but stunning deep blue again. “So I … can’t exactly say I’m surprised to find you here, doing this.”

“Wow, you guys really don’t waste any time with the demonic phone tree, do ya?” Dean gritted out, fingers curling into tight fists at his sides. “So?”

“So?” The demon lifted his head, brows raised as he fixed Dean with a curious look. 

“So are you gonna help me or **_not_**?” He growled out, only to purse his lips into a tight, hard line a moment later. Sam would be lost if he couldn’t keep it together; they had no chance if this thing got its nose bent out of shape and just moseyed away. Dean’s nostrils flared as he took a deep, shaky breath, eyes following the demon’s every move as he prowled towards him. 

“It’s within my power, yes,” he granted, lips twitching into that smile again. Hands still tucked into the pockets of his slacks, he made his loose-limbed way over to Dean, eyes roving over his face. “But … you’ll have to forgive me, Dean. I’m afraid we have to talk about the dreaded d-word.” Off Dean’s baffled look, he clarified: “Details.”

If it wasn’t for the fact that the guy was a literal demon taking requests from desperate suckers at the crossroads in exchange for their immortal souls, Dean might say he was almost … _charming_. Scrubbing a hand over his face and up into his hair, Dean scratched at his scalp roughly, nails sending bracing tingles through his body as he took another deep breath. Time to get down to brass tacks.

“So, okay. Let’s say you bring my brother back, then. You bring him back, and then in ten years, you take _me_ ,” he throws out, tension wending its way along his shoulders and down his spine. 

For his part, the demon was still traipsing his lazy way along. Dean’s knuckles cracked, fingers squeezing tighter around his palms and he wondered if this is what a mongoose felt like when it was staring down a spitting cobra. You could never tell what one of these assclowns was going to get up to, so it didn’t pay to take his eyes off of the infernal fuck for even an instant. 

When the demon finally closed the distance between them, he veered off to one side, those sharp Italian loafers of his crunching in the gravel as he slowly started circling Dean like a dapper vulture. 

The silence was getting to him, but Dean clenched his teeth and willed himself to stay quiet. His dad had always warned him that his smart mouth would get him into trouble, and now was the worst possible time to go all Han Solo.

“Intriguing offer, but I’m afraid I must decline,” he said at last, his tone so close to apologetic it was like taking a brick straight to the face.

Hearing those words, Dean snapped around, eyes following the creature as it circled him. “W-what?” He stammered out, voice barely a whisper, feeling his heart and hope starting to sink. “It’s the same deal you guys offer every other mark out there!”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, Dean, but… you’re not every other mark, now, _are_ you?” The demon’s eyes turned steely, then. Calculating. “You’re a hunter, your brother is a hunter. Your very existence is devoted to making my job more difficult. Rescuing humans, finding stuff and things. Not to mention the fact that you could always come back here, with young master Winchester in tow, and … uhh, how would you say it? 'Gank my ass?'” He cast a quick look at Dean as he completed his little circuit around and came to stop in front of him again. 

“You’re a demon,” Dean pointed out.

“Precisely. And I’d like to remain as such, thank you,” he replied with his toothiest grin. 

“What even are you, man? An unholy investment banker? ‘Cause I gotta say, I’ve never met a demon -- a-a _anything_ \-- like you.” He squinted, as if he could discern the exact nature and motives of the creature just by staring at him hard enough.

“Dean! Are you saying I’m special?” The bastard actually gasped and pulled his hand out of his pocket and rested it over his heart, beaming at him. 

Soon enough, though, the beatific smile made way for a long, lingering look that had Dean feeling odd flutters in the pit of his stomach. Only instead of butterflies, it was probably more like bats. Or zombie butterflies. Whatever.

The crossroad demon’s feet shuffled along in the gravel in those stupid, fancy shoes, eyes trailing along the line of his body. He was taking his time, letting Dean see him staring, eyeing him up like he was a hot, rare steak on a plate. “I bet you say that to all the demons.” Despite the open staring, the tone of his response was more pensive than seductive, then.

“Look, if you’re not interested, there’s probably fifty different kinds of bad and ugly in this county alone that would be happy to take my soul in exchange for what I’m askin’,” Dean replied, doing his best to remain nonchalant. “Just say the word and I can send you back to whatever fancy hellhole you crawled out of, no trouble at all.”

“Without your brother?” The demon inquired, as if Sam were just a lost wallet or coat that Dean had left behind at a bar instead of all the family he had left. His expression was expectant, but only for a moment, then gave his head a shake. “No, I -- no, I don’t think you will, Dean,” he finished with a quiet chuckle.

Shit. Well, the guy had him, there. 

“Look, just tell me what you want, I’ll do --” Before the word ‘anything’ even had a chance to form as a sound in his mouth, there was a sudden blur of movement, little more than a black smudge in his vision, and cool, soft fingers just touched his lips. There for a split second and then gone again. So fast, Dean might have almost thought he’d imagined it.

“Ah-ah!” he tutted gently, drawing his hand away. The action seemed to have taken them both by surprise, if the expression on his face was any indication. After a brief beat, he withdrew back into his own space, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his duster. When he looked at Dean, then, his expression was grave. “Of all the phrases, in all the worlds I know, those three little words are like… a fistful of tickets at the carnival. Never say such things, Dean. Especially when you’re near to something like me.”

For his part, Dean took half a step back, feeling the hairs starting to stand up all over his body. He’d hunted demons, he’d exorcised them, he’d doused them in holy water and lit them up like roman candles on the Fourth of July, but this one… this one was something different.

The demon took a few strolling steps away from him - apparently granting him a few moments to regroup - but his eyes were still trained on Dean all the while. His body and his gait were relaxed, like he had all the time in the world. Which he kinda did, once Dean thought about it for a sec.

Whatever this thing was, demon or not, it had done him a solid with that warning, and he wouldn’t take it for granted. Swallowing around the lump of panic that kept trying to work its way up, Dean held his hands out at his sides helplessly. “Just… _tell me_ ,” he pleaded, feeling a prickle in his eyes. “Tell me how I can fix this.”

Finally, the demon stopped in his aimless meandering, dead in his tracks, brows wrinkling as he regarded the hunter in front of him. The silence stretched between them and, after another almost-eternity had passed, he sighed like he was setting down a tremendous weight.

“One. One year,” he said at last with that same weird, regret-filled tone, those doleful blue eyes meeting his with reluctance. “That’s all I can swing.”

“One --! I’ll take it.” He hopped on the offer before it had barely had a chance to hit the table, like a fucking green, over-eager chump, but it was time he had, time they’d have to --

As if he was reading Dean’s mind, the demon tisked at him again, shaking his head slowly like the world’s most disappointed father. “There are conditions,” he murmured. “One of which being that you and your brother - once he’s back in the land of the free and the home of the non-putrefying, of course - will do nothing to try to circumvent, interrupt, or otherwise sever our agreement.”

“Or else what?” Dean shot back with a frown.

“Or the deal is broken and your brother becomes a heap of decaying flesh right before your very eyes,” he replied, not even a hint of a smile on his face. It wasn’t really something to smile about, after all, but there was more to it than that. “I’ve seen it happen, Dean, and I can assure you, it’s … most unpleasant.”  
  
“You have my word,” Dean replied, even and solemn and not hesitating for even a moment. With his hands tied like this, he knew it would be difficult for them to manage, but he wouldn’t do anything that would risk Sam. 

Something about his response seemed to have tickled the demon again, somehow, and that same small, cheeky smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth again. “I appreciate that, Dean. I sincerely do, but… it’s not your word that makes the magic happen,” he said, expression swaying more towards the sly, now. 

Dean’s posture went ramrod stiff at his words, just for a moment, but the demon noticed. Of course, it noticed. Dean took a breath and willed his muscles to relax, despite how he felt panic scrabbling deep in the pit of his stomach. The deal was almost done, just one more thing. 

“Right,” Dean muttered, hand straying to his face, rubbing at his jaw. “That.”

He didn’t know that a demon’s eyes even could sparkle, but this one’s sure as hell did. Hearing Dean’s words, his smile was incandescent as he paced back in Dean’s direction. 

Hands falling to his sides again, he fidgeted with the denim snug against his thighs, then, feeling uneasy. “Can’t we just… I dunno, shake hands or something?” He asked, clearly grasping at straws. “High five?”

“I’m afraid not,” he said, casting another one of those apologetic looks in Dean’s direction as he approached. 

The closer he got, the more intense that strange electrifying sensation became, swirling over his body like the feeling of a limb falling asleep and then the resulting ache and tingle of circulation as blood refilled the once-encumbered extremity. Not bad, exactly, but it wasn’t entirely nice, either. Dean had been around plenty of bad shit in his day to know it when he felt it; he wasn’t exactly a psychic dream baby like Sam was, but he could sure as hell recognize darkness for what it was.

It was kinda impossible not to recognize it, now that it was headed straight for him.   
  
When he reached Dean, the demon withdrew his hands from his pockets and reached up, his long, nimble fingers catching a light hold of the lapels of Dean’s jacket. Dean blinked, eyes darting down to those hands, and then back up to the man’s face.

“You’ll have your brother back, Dean,” he murmured, those blue eyes searching his in a way that left him feeling bare, vulnerable. Like he could see all of it, everything, even the thoughts in his own head. Who was this guy?! “This? This moment? Is fleeting. But Sam will be saved. You’ll have your brother back again.” Dean eyed him, wary, and the demon favored him with a weighty stare. “You have my word.”

All he -- all **it** \-- was doing was parroting his own words back at him, like they were supposed to mean something, anything coming from a thing like him.

But if Dean didn’t do this, then Sam was gone. Forever. 

His shoulders slumped in defeat, head bowed, and at last, he nodded. 

There was perfect quiet for a few moments, but Dean could feel the demon watching him, could feel that dark-eyed gaze lingering, roving. Considering. “However, there is just one more small matter.”

Those words had Dean’s head snapping up so fast, he almost pulled something. “What?” He gritted out, fingers curled into tight fists, heart started to pound in the cage of his ribs again.

“Well, we’ve already discussed your terms,” he replied, and somehow, at some point, he’d pulled out a pack of cigarettes when Dean wasn’t looking. 

Slipping a cigarette free from the pack, he held it just in front of his full lips, pursing them and blowing ever so lightly across the end of the cigarette, the tip of it immediately catching alight. Dean could feel his own eyebrows creeping up higher, unable to tear his gaze away from those full lips.

The demon took a drag off his smoke, looking for all the world like fucking Frank fucking Sinatra or something; the only thing missing was a slick tux with a black silk bowtie left dangling loose around his stiff shirt collar. Well, that and all the hair grease. The smoke escaped from those full lips as he spoke and the effect was somehow more unsettling, more chilling than even the demon’s bright red eyes. Red eyes that were regarding him steadily, laser focused. 

“But now, I think it would be a good time to discuss my conditions.”

“Conditions?” Dean aimed a wary look at him and it took everything he had inside in that moment not to pull away, step back, do something, anything, to put some distance between himself and the demon. “Wait -- _your_ conditions?”

Instead of looking contrite, the demon tipped his chin up a fraction, eyes narrowed to slits as he regarded him coolly. “A hunter of your caliber, with your connections… you must understand the level of risk I’m taking on, here - to do this for you,” he said, his free hand coming to rest on his stomach, just above the buckle of his belt. He thumbs at his bottom lip, rubbing back and forth there, eyes straying away from Dean’s. “I’ll have to keep this one off the books, as it is…”

The words made barely any sense, to Dean, either in context or out, but he had no idea what this evil real-estate agent might have in mind. Drawing in a steadying breath, Dean braced himself. “So what -- what’re the conditions? Spit it out, man, I ain’t got all night.”

Lifting his head, the demon’s eyes flickered filmy red, but only briefly. The penetrating stare those blue eyes ran him through with after was enough to make his blood go frosty in his veins. It was like a lightning bolt snapping at him from a blue sky and its effect was just as profound.

Dean could feel himself start trembling inside his clothes and his head swam with frustrated curses. 

Just like that, the steely-eyed glare eased away, replaced by that same easy-going demeanor of a few minutes previous. The demon lifted his shoulders in a grand shrug, even as he flicked the ashes from the end of his cigarette. “I should warn you, it’s a buyer’s market. This offer won’t remain on the table forever. So you can listen attentively to my conditions, like a good boy, or you can _choose_ not to, and you spend the rest of your short life without your brother,” the demon finished. “Up to you, though, of course.”

Dean clenched his teeth behind firmly pursed lips, breaths levering in and out of his flaring nostrils as he tried to steady himself. He wouldn’t let this thing run him off. He couldn’t. Sammy needed him. He had to do this for Sam. “Fine, let’s hear ‘em,” he grumbled, shifting uncomfortably where he stood. 

The demon’s grin turned sultry, then, and he angled himself closer, until they were practically standing toe to toe, but worse, because he was just all up in Dean’s personal bubble. Sober dark blue eyes roved over his face, taking in every minute detail. Lips parting, he drew a breath, as if preparing to speak, but then… nothing. The smile fizzled out and he was back to playing demonic Bob Barker like nothing ever happened. 

“Fine,” he grumbled, all but rolling his eyes. “In exchange for your eternal soul, Dean Winchester, I will return your brother to you, just as he was, and you’ll have a grace period of one year to get your affairs in order and say goodbye to your loved ones.”

Dean chewed on his lip as he considered the offer. “Fair,” he said. “Keep goin’. You said somethin’ about conditions.”

“Ahh, yes,” he murmured, eyes straying from Dean’s face to consider the dirt road. “It’s simple enough: I pull Sam out of the pit for you, but in return, you must do something for me.”

“You’re -- wh -- you’re already gettin’ my soul, that’s not enough?!” Dean sputtered, feeling more and more out of his depth by the second. 

“I am taking on far more risk for you than you could ever understand, boy,” he growled, his human countenance stormy, affronted. "Do you suppose I should do something like that for you for... nothing? Does that sound fair to you, Dean?" He got even closer, somehow, one of those Italian shoes planted squarely between his own two booted feet, letting Dean know: this wasn’t his turf and even if Dean had summoned him, this demon had the upper hand, in every possible way.

At those words, Dean could feel the electrifying sensation intensify around him and he sucked in a soft gasp. Somehow, he managed to avoid taking a step back, but just barely. “N-no,” he managed, doing his best to keep his voice even.

“You’re asking me to do this, in exchange for your soul, but that’s part of my job, I already **do** that. This… no, this would be for **_me_**.” Blue eyes searched Dean’s face, like they were a metal detector and when the demon’s eyes met his, Dean could have sworn he felt a _ping!_ in his chest. Like his entire body was a guitar string and someone had just strummed the mother of all power chords on him.

Dean chuckled before he even realized he was doing it. “Your conditions,” he said, nodding his head slowly. “Yeah, okay. I get it.”

“Good. You’re a smart man, Dean. I know you can keep up with me, so don’t try to play the pretty meathead. It doesn’t suit you,” he said quietly. He reached up, fingertips just catching the edge of Dean’s chin, brushing there lightly for a moment. Enough so that Dean could feel how his fingertip raked over his stubble, sending more of those delightful shocky sensations through him.

With effort, Dean gulped and offered him a wan smile. “The conditions?” 

“I bring your brother back to you and, some time within the course of your final year, I shall call on you, and you will answer,” he said, just as neat and tidy as you please. He met Dean’s eyes squarely. “Do you understand?”

“You’ll -- you’ll call on me? I don’t --” Dean gave his head a shake, genuinely not understanding. “I mean, you -- you need me to gank a monster or somethin’? I’m your guy, but this --”

“Relax. I wouldn’t ask you to do anything you would find ethically objectionable,” he noted with a gentle smile. A hint of wryness peeked through, making his denim-colored eyes gleam. “I know how you humans hate getting… _sticky_.”  
  
Dean favored the demon with a perplexed stare, but finally caught himself, scoffed it away. “Yeah, but you’re a demon - we don’t exactly have the same baseline for, uhh...ethically objectionable.”

“Fair enough,” he replied, echoing Dean’s remark from earlier. They just stared at each other for a long beat. 

Dean almost wanted to laugh, and he wondered if he’d gone mad for a moment. He probably had, because the next words spilling from his own mouth are, “All right.” Both of the demon’s eyebrows lifted, then, and he felt a surge of confidence course through him, however brief. He’d actually managed to _surprise_ the thing.

It only lasted for a split second, but then the demon flicked his cigarette away, those graceful hands reaching, broad palms settling on his chest and sliding up in a deliberate touch that had Dean’s pulse pounding hard in his throat. The demon’s long, elegantly tapered fingers settled against the side of his throat, over that very spot, and he watched as its eyes fluttered closed, a slow smile shaping those full, pale pink lips. 

A smile that only got bigger when Dean’s heart began beating so hard it felt like it was trying to crack its way out from the inside. There was the slightest brush of the demon’s thumb to the edge of his jawline and the demon opened its eyes to meet his eyes. 

Dean gasped before he even had a thought to stop himself when he caught sight of the thing’s eyes. Where, previously, they’d been completely red with swirls of darker crimson, the red pupils made way for a cold blue-white glare surrounded by that original gut-blood color.

The demon -- could he even really call it a demon? He’d never seen a demon with eyes like that before -- leaned in and captured his lips in what felt like an oddly chaste kiss for a crossroads demon, fingers clutching at the front of Dean’s coat. Then, just like that, it was over, and Dean found himself reaching up, brushing his fingers against his lips and feeling shell-shocked. 

“That was the boilerplate,” the demon purred, leaning in to nuzzle the other side of Dean’s throat, fingers still petting over his skin. “ _This_ one's part of the fine print…” 

That was all the warning Dean got, before several things happened, all at once. In a blink, he was suddenly somehow several hundred feet back from the crossroads where he’d been standing and was now standing beside his beloved Impala again. He found himself being pressed up against the driver’s door, crushed between it and the deceptively trim body pinning him there. 

Those slender fingers Dean had admired were sliding into his cropped hair, curling in against his scalp and cinching down tight. A look passed between them and Dean allowed the demon to draw his head back, feeling just how strong the creature was, just from that small point of contact. He’d sooner lose a handful of hair than be able to get away from this thing, if it didn’t want him to get away, that was for damn sure.

Full lips crushed against his and when Dean’s lips parted in another gasp, it took advantage of that opening and deepened the kiss, tongue stroking slowly over his. Dean’s damned fingers were clutching at the shoulders of his jacket, though he wasn’t sure if he was trying to pull the guy closer or push him away. 

Two soft, cool hands cradled his face and the tongue in his mouth felt a little bit like what Dean imagined it must feel like to lick a block of dry ice, but the way those lips nibbled and teased at his left him feeling anything but frozen. Dragging his bottom lip over Dean’s, the demon ground his hips against the hunter’s in a half-finished movement - just enough to drag a soft groan from Dean - before finally breaking away. 

As soon as the demon’s lips left his, Dean drew his bottom lip into his mouth reflexively, teeth worrying at it and shivering at the faint pins-and-needles sensation that resulted. 

A blinding smile curled the demon’s lips and he chuckled. “There’s one more small thing,” he murmured, his strong-looking hands settling on Dean’s shoulders. “Which hand do you shoot with?” 

The question had Dean raising his eyebrow, for multiple reasons. 

“Your weapon. Which hand, Dean.” 

Dean stared at him for several more beats, but soon caved. “You’re no fun,” he said with a sneer. “Fine. ‘m right-handed. Why?”

The demon gave Dean’s shoulders a careful squeeze before allowing his fingers to trail down along Dean’s right arm, to his hand. Gathering up Dean’s hand in his own, he lifted it up. Straightening his stance, the blue-eyed creature put just a scant few inches of distance between them while Dean remained slouched against the car.   
  
Dean watched through narrowed eyes as the demon drew his right hand up to his lips and fastened his mouth half an inch or so from the base of Dean’s thumb. 

“What the he -- “ His words were cut off as he sucked in a sharp gasp of pain, pressing his body back against the car to steady himself. “ _Son of a bitch!_ ” He hissed, yanking his hand back as soon as the demon released him. Where, before, there had been cold, he was startled to find beads of sweat popping out on his forehead, his body trembling with sudden, unexpected hurt. It had only lasted a second, at most, the touch of the creature’s tongue, but it had felt a bit like taking a nuclear reactor rod to the thumb.

Looking down at his hand, Dean found the source of the pain: a fresh, blackened brand in the shape of what looked like an ornate letter C with a wing or maybe a leaf curling out from the upper curve of the letter. The edges of the mark were red, already aching and swollen, and he found himself wondering if still had any of that numbing spray in the first aid kit. 

He didn’t have to ponder for long, though, as the demon lightly brushed its fingertip over the spot, a brief flicker of that same soft blue glow appearing there and leaving a healed black mark behind.

“My apologies,” he said softly, ducking his head just briefly to press a kiss to the back of Dean’s hand before righting himself again. 

“You wanna tell me what the hell that’s for?” Dean gritted out. 

“It stings. I forgot to mention it.” The demon shrugged.

“No, I -- I didn’t mean what you were apologizing for,” he muttered, huffing out an impatient breath like an aggravated bull. Another deep, deep breath in through his nose before he dared try speaking again. “What… is this mark? You never mentioned anything about this in our ‘deal’.”

“Oh, that,” he said with a light laugh. Fishing into his pockets, he pulled out his cigarettes again and lit one for himself with another carefully aimed breath. “Ohh, I’m sure you’ll find out all about that, soon enough,” he added, cigarette bobbing between his lips as his hands stroked over his vest, ridding it and his suit jacket of any wrinkles. Wrinkles that Dean’s hands had put there, while they’d been --

Yeah, it wasn’t the time to be thinking about stuff like that.

“You got a name, at least?” Dean pressed, determined to leave here with at least some scrap of information about this thing. 

“Consider it part of your homework,” the demon said after a few moments of reflection. Turning back towards the crossroads, he sauntered in that direction, taking a moment to tug at the cuffs of his shirt sleeves. 

“Go to your brother, Dean. He’s waiting for you.”

Those last words echoed in the pitch of the chilled evening, amidst one last gout of cigarette smoke. 

Dean was alone again. 

Adrenaline set his entire body in motion as he hopped into his car, whipped her into a reverse 180 in the middle of the road and sped off back in the direction of the farmhouse, spraying gravel like bird-shot.

He couldn’t stop staring at that mark on his hand the whole way back.


End file.
